


My, How You've Grown

by lilsherlockian1975



Series: ... a world of pure imagination...(AUs and AU prompts) [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, F/M, Humor, John and Molly are half siblings, Over-protective John, Romance, Slightly Naughty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:56:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/pseuds/lilsherlockian1975
Summary: lilsmolls3 asked: Hello! If you could do #21 for Sherlolly please?! best friends siblings AU -"You called your brain your 'hard drive' and said you only kept valuable information. I thought you were high.""No. Not high. I did dabble in drugs for a while at uni, but found them too distracting.""Like sex?""Pardon?""You also told me - a fourteen year old, by the way - that you had decided to ignore your need for… oh yes, pointless hormonal gratification in order to focus solely on honing the art of deduction." She seemed far too amused. "See why I thought you were high?""You remember our entire conversation?"She stood and said, "Perhaps my hard drive is larger than yours," with a wink as she left the room.





	My, How You've Grown

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tiny bit on the M side, but just barely. Nothing like my normal smutfest but there is some naughty language. Okay, remember this is an AU. Sherlock and John have known each other for many years and they *may* not be in character (but there's a lot of fun to be had!). Thanks so much for the prompt lilsmolls3! Huge thanks to MrsMcrieff for giving it a Brit once over and MizJoelyfor betaing. Love these ladies. Also, Mr Lil helped with the title because I was tired and about to give it up for a lost cause. Bless!
> 
> I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~

It had all started with one simple sentence: " _My sister's coming to stay with us next week_."

Sherlock didn't even give his flatmate's words another thought until he woke up at six-thirty one evening (after a grueling double murder that had taken him four days to solve), wrapped himself in a sheet and made his way groggily into the kitchen in search of coffee.

When he heard someone approaching from behind, he assumed it was John but, as his mind slowly woke, deductions involuntarily warned him that the footfalls were too soft- too close together.  _John's got another one_ , he thought as he tightened his sheet. Sherlock wasn't aware of a new woman in his flatmate's life, but the doctor tended to work pretty fast. He knew John wouldn't like the fact that he was all but nude, traipsing around in front of his newest conquest, but he frankly didn't care.

"Should take more care where he leaves them," Sherlock mumbled as he put the kettle on.

"I'm sorry?" a female voice said.

Turning, he took in the woman and found that she wasn't at all John's normal fare. She wore no makeup on her face, but instantly Sherlock decided that her delicate, almost elfin features didn't need embellishment. There was a natural beauty about the woman that completely threw the detective off his game. Her eyes were large and bright and they danced with amusement for some reason that he couldn't quite figure out. She was also small- no,  _tiny_. Very petite, with long brown hair that nearly touched her waist. Though she was dressed conservatively in jeans and a jumper (an ugly jumper!), he could clearly make out the generous swell of her hips and the perfect handful of breasts that lay beneath that multi-coloured monstrosity she was wearing.

"Sherlock?" she said, interrupting his... well, his ogling.

He forced his eyes back up to her lovely face and said, "Where has John run off to, I wonder?" Internally adding,  _leaving me here with this beautiful creature that he'll be finished within less than a fortnight_. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had caused such a reaction in him _. I couldn't have been older than twenty-two... maybe twenty-three._

She folded her arms across her perfect breasts as she leant up against the doorjamb. "Chips. He should be home soon."

The kettle started to boil and the woman took a step forward, smirking deliciously. "Would you like some help with your coffee? I'd hate for you to lose your... toga." Her eyes twinkled as she bit her lip. "Well, that's not completely true, is it?"

That's when he remembered his attire.  _Damn._ He stepped toward the hallway, wanting nothing more than to put on some bloody clothes!

"You still take two sugars?" she called out, causing him to pause and turn back to her.

The realisation hit him like an actual ton of bricks. " _Molly_?"

"You were clearly expecting some else. I see my brother hasn't given up his womanizing ways."

That explained the awful jumper; evidently poor taste in clothing was a genetic trait. "Molly Hooper?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Molly Hooper," she said with a laugh as she finished his coffee.

He looked her up once again, committing her image and name to his mind palace. "You've...  _changed_."

She handed him the mug. "I was fourteen the last time you saw me, I sincerely  _hope_ I've changed." He suddenly noticed the dimple in cheek that was much more prevalent when she smiled. "Enjoy your coffee, Sherlock," she said before returning to the sitting room.

* * *

Once in his bedroom, his mind went into overdrive as he remembered his conversation with John the week prior. " _My sister's coming to stay with us next week_." But there was more, wasn't there?

He searched his 'unimportant John prattle' file and found several other short conversations as he drank his coffee.

" _Molly's got interviews at St. Mary's and Charing Cross. She'll be staying for at least two weeks, maybe more_."

" _My baby sister finished medical school almost two years quicker than I did. Isn't that something_?" Not really. John was book smart, but not genius.

" _You're going to be nice to Molls and not deduce her. She's gonna be nervous enough about the job interviews without you running off at the mouth._ "

John had also mentioned her specialty, but for the life of him, Sherlock couldn't remember.  _Pediatric oncology? Podiatry? Proctology?_  No, it was no use. He'd have to ask.

Twenty minutes later, he was clothed and much more calm. He'd completely forgotten that John's sister was coming to stay and apparently since he'd last seen her she'd turned into a beautiful, charming young woman. She was actually his half-sister. John's mother had married Molly's father after her first husband had died and they'd had Molly… four years later?  _Okay, so how old does that make…_

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**  "Sherlock! I'm coming in!" John shouted seconds before entering the room. "You walked around in front of my baby sister in a fucking sheet?!"

"To my defense, I assumed she was one of your conquests and…"

"I don't care, you fuckwad!"

"Really, John, I think you're overreacting."

The doctor closed in on his friend, not stopping until he was less than two inches from Sherlock's face. "Listen to me, you bloody wanker, while she's here you will be on your  _best_ behaviour. Are we clear?"

Reluctantly, Sherlock nodded.

"No deducing, no wall shooting and keep your bloody clothes on, for fuck's sake! She's a good girl. Sweet and pure and she doesn't need you flirting with her and confusing the hell out of her!" With that, the shorter man stormed out of the room. "She's not a case, she's my sister!" he shouted over his shoulder.

A memory of he and John hunting down a boyfriend of Molly's something like ten years prior and 'gently encouraging' the boy to keep his hands to himself suddenly came to Sherlock's mind.

When Sherlock stepped into the hallway he heard the siblings arguing.

"... canceling it, Molls. Mary will understand!" he said as he paced.

"Are you serious?" the young woman spit back. "I'm twenty-four years old and hopefully will be living on my own in London in a few months! I don't need a babysitter. I wasn't offended by Sherlock  _or_ his sheet. I thought it was funny! If you can't trust me alone with your flatmate, it's going to be a long three weeks,  _Hamish_!"

" _Molly…_ "

"Go on you sodding date, John. I'm sure the big scary detective won't hurt me before you get back!"

He heard her storm up the stairs and John's bedroom door slam shut.

"So, Mary?" he asked as he walked into the room. "Where'd you meet this one?"

John turned toward him and glared. "I'll be back before eleven. Don't make me hurt you!"

"If you think I'm such a threat to her, why did you invite her to come stay with us? Evidently, you think I'm some kind of monster that can't be trusted with your sister."

The other man huffed and dipped his head. "Sorry. You're right. I don't think you're… a monster. But she's young, Sherlock, and impressionable and naive. Just… be nice. Okay?"

"Of course, John. I'll be an absolute gentleman."

His words seemed to appease John and he picked up his keys and wallet, leaving without another word.

An hour later, Sherlock was deeply absorbed in an experiment, though really, he was trying to get his mind off the pretty girl just above his head when he heard it again: soft footsteps coming toward him. He'd somehow missed her descent down the stairs.

"So what's all this?" Molly asked as she sat down at the kitchen table.

"Experiment," he answered, not taking his eyes off of the mixture in front of him. Using a microtip dropper, he added a drop of green food coloring to the top of a silica gel.

After a few moments of blessed silence, she said, "Oh, you're separating synthetic dyes and natural pigments."

Slowly, he turned and looked at the woman next to him. "Pathology!" he said, finally remembering what John had told him about her field of study.

She smiled. "Yes. I assumed you knew. John has a tendency to brag."

"He did. I forgot."

"Ahh, I see. Not important enough for the mind palace?"

"How do you know..?"

"You don't remember telling me all about it during that awful family reunion?" She looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "You called your brain your 'hard drive' and said you only kept valuable information. I thought you were high."

"No. Not high. I did dabble in drugs for a while at uni, but found them too distracting."

"Like sex?"

"Pardon?"

"You also told me - a fourteen year old, by the way - that you had decided to ignore your need for… oh yes,  _pointless hormonal gratification_ in order to focus solely on honing the art of deduction." She seemed far too amused. "See why I thought you were high?"

"You remember our entire conversation?"

She stood and said, "Perhaps my hard drive is larger than yours," with a wink as she left the room.

_Bloody fucking hell… I'm in trouble._

He decided then and there to keep a healthy distance between himself and the lovely young pathologist. John did keep a gun in the flat, for goodness sake.

* * *

Keeping his distance was far easier said than done; she was everywhere! For the first week, Sherlock took every case he could get his hands on, no matter how small or unworthy, to keep his mind (and eyes) off of his flatmate's sister. But it was no use; they still saw each other, frequently.

Eight days after she had arrived John came into the sitting room, hands on his hips, and said, "I have to go Birmingham for a week."

John was a locum; he'd been very lucky that most of the clinics he'd been assigned were within the London area. It seemed his luck just ended. So had Sherlock's.

_Perfect timing,_  Sherlock thought ruefully.

"Okay," Molly said.

He sat down next to his sister. "But both of your interviews are this week. I wanted to be here…"

"It's fine, Johnny! I'll call you and tell you all about them."

John smiled at the young woman then turned his focus on Sherlock. "You will  _not_ make her nervous or distract her in any way. You will not  _ruin_ this for her. Understand?"

Sherlock had discovered something about his best friend in the last few days: no matter how loyal he was to Sherlock, no matter how much he cared - and he  _did_ care, had always cared and always been there for him - nothing was more important than the woman on the settee.  _Nothing_. He had no doubt that if he stepped one foot out of line, John would prove just how much he loved his little sister. Even if that meant causing bodily harm to his best friend of over ten years.

"I wouldn't dream of it, John," Sherlock responded, glancing up at the doctor for a split second before returning his attention back to the computer on his lap. "Besides, I'm sure I'll be too busy to give Miss Hooper any trouble."

"You've found a case?" John asked.

"Not yet, but I'm sure I will."

John stood. "I have to pack. I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

After he'd left the room, Molly said, "He's always been like this, you know?"

"Hmmm."

"Ridiculously overprotective."

"Apparently."

She got up and walked towards his chair. "I mean, what sort of trouble does he expect us to get into?"

Looking up, Sherlock realised just how close she was. "No idea."

Molly sat down on the arm of his chair.  _What the bloody…_

"Maybe he's just afraid of leaving two scientists alone with all your expensive equipment."

"Perhaps," he replied.

"You're especially verbose this evening," she teased. "Something bothering you, Sherlock?"

_Yes! A beautiful, untouchable woman in my personal space is bothering me!_  "No. Why would there be?"

"Ohh!" Suddenly her face lit up. "Can you get a hold of some human tissue samples?"

_Does John own fifty ugly jumpers?_  "Possibly."

Jumping up she said, "This is gonna be so much fun!"

_The woman of my dreams is prancing around in shorts and a singlet, talking about testing tissue samples, and I'm not allowed to confess my undying love. A pox on you, John Hamish Watson, for bringing this damnable creature into my life._

"Yes, fun," he said, trying his best to sound bored.

* * *

Sherlock never found a case. He did, however, talk Mike Stamford into 'loaning' him some tissue samples, and he and Molly set up their own version of a Mad Scientist's Lair in John's absence. To say it was excruciatingly painful was a gross understatement. Oh, he enjoyed every moment of their time together, but every moment also reminded him that what he ultimately wanted was something he could never actually have.

Molly was unlike any woman he'd ever met. Though incredibly bright, she was far from arrogant in her intelligence. Always eager to learn, she dove head first into their little experiments, making suggestions and asking questions. Even though she had slightly more education than Sherlock, she seemed to want to defer to the Graduate Chemist from time to time. When he questioned her about it once, she simply explained that he had more practical experience and that she'd be a fool not to try to learn from him. She did stipulate, however, that there were areas in which she was more knowledgeable. She was not at all put off by his shortness or blatant need to show-off. As a matter of fact, if he got too out of hand, Molly would just roll her eyes or smirk. Sometimes she'd make a snide comment. Never once, however, did she let him get away with pushing her away.

Simply put, she was… magnificent.

Her interviews took place on Tuesday and Wednesday of the week John was in Birmingham. Sherlock not only followed his flatmate's advice (warning!) but he went out of his way to make sure she was relaxed and confident prior to each meeting.

Both mornings he made her favourite tea and had it waiting along with a bit of fruit and whatever he could pilfer from Mrs. Hudson's kitchen when she emerged from the bathroom wearing elegant skirts and blouses, her long hair pulled up high and styled in some sort of twist. She looked even more delicious when dressed in professional suits. Subtle makeup on her delicate face and a slightly nervous smile on her lips made Sherlock want to grab her and shove her up against the nearest wall and show her that she had nothing to worry about. She was both brilliant and beautiful.

There was no way she wasn't going to have the panels of interviewers eating out of her hands.

John phoned on Friday saying he was going to have to stay longer; at the time he wasn't sure exactly how long. Molly was disappointed, but mostly distracted, waiting to hear back from her interviews.

Tuesday evening, Sherlock came back home after finishing a case to find the woman sat on the sofa, sobbing into a cushion.

_Bugger…_ "Molly?"

She didn't answer. He removed his suit jacket and sat next to her. After saying her name again and still getting no response, he placed his hand on her back. Her head jerked up. A tight feeling of constriction stretched through his chest after seeing the look on her face. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with tears.

"What happened?" he asked, although he'd already deduced the problem.

"I didn't get… either job," she answered in a low, rough voice.

_What sort of idiots do these hospitals employ?_  Sherlock quickly got up and retrieved a box of tissues, then returned to her side.

After cleaning her face, she said, "It's fine, I suppose. I have a job offer in Bristol. At least I'm not  _completely_ unemployable."

_Bristol!?_ he thought.  _Bristol doesn't deserve this woman!_  And it was so bloody far away. No, that would never do!

"Molly, you need a drink," he said, his mind already formulating a plan (one that involved making a phone call out of her earshot).

"I really don't feel like going out, Sherlock. And I look like shit on a stick."

Untrue, of course, but nevertheless. "I'll go out myself acquire some alcohol. Give me fifteen minutes."

Molly nodded and buried her head back into the cushion.

As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he pulled up the contacts on his mobile. "Mycroft," he said when his brother answered the call. "I need a favour…"

True to his word, just as he knew he would be, Sherlock was back in 221B in less than a quarter of an hour. "Here," he said as he handed Molly a glass of the whiskey he'd just procured. "This should calm your nerves."

She took the glass, giving him the tiniest smile in return. "You're too good to me, you know?"

He didn't respond, instead poured his own drink and considered what he'd just done. To say that he'd sold his soul to the devil would be an understatement. However, three trips to the theater district with his parents was a small price to pay to make Molly Hooper happy. He  _did_  cringe at the thought of what exactly 'and whatever else I deem necessary to repay the debt' meant in  _Mycroft speak_. Probably assisting with one of his boring government cases. It didn't matter; the deed was done.

The pair sat in the lounge and drank and talked and drank some more. Molly's mood did improve, as did Sherlock's. Soon he forgot about his overbearing big brother and musicals and could only focus on the beguiling brunette to his right. Molly's hands started to wander the more she drank. Not that either of them was drunk, per se, but they were both feeling quite light and carefree after about an hour.

Thirty minutes after that, she was leaning on him with her left arm draped over his shoulder, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and causing all sorts of indecent thoughts to flutter through his mind.

As he started to pour his fourth glass of whiskey, Molly reached out and stopped him. "I don't think we should have anymore, Sherlock," she said, her speech only slightly slurred.

He put down the glass and bottle. "And why is that?"

She smirked, moving to sit up on her knees. "I'd rather take advantage of my brother's absence in more… pleasant ways." Reaching out with both hands, she cupped his cheeks. "And since I'm in that sweet spot of 'just drunk enough to do something I wouldn't normally do, but not so drunk that I won't remember', I'm going to kiss you now."

Warning bells were ringing in Sherlock's head. He wasn't supposed to be doing this but his foggy mind couldn't remember why, exactly. His brother?  _No, not Mycroft... Oh! John! Molly just mentioned…_

Suddenly Molly's lips were on his, soft and warm, tasting of whiskey and sweetness that he could only attribute to her own unique flavour, and he stopped caring about warning bells and brothers. He gripped her hips, pulling her closer as he felt her tongue teasing the seam of his lips. She kissed him slowly, almost sweetly, as if she were drinking from his heart. He distantly wondered if it was the drink that had turned him into a sappy romantic or if it was the woman in his arms. Not that he really cared, especially once her tongue was completely inside his mouth, moving quick and clever against his.

Nudging him back, she lay on top of him, gripping his hair and turning his head to suit her needs. Her small body was so hot against his as he bucked up, thrusting his erection into her midsection without a thought of how improper it was, how they were moving far too fast, especially considering how much they had had to drink.

Molly moved her lips to his neck, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive skin just under his ear. "God, Sherlock, I want you," she moaned.

And though it indeed fueled his fire, it also brought him back to the reality of the situation. This was John's little sister. She was off limits and, more importantly, he genuinely cared for the woman. She wasn't some drunken conquest.

He was going to have to lie to her- tell her that he was drunk and not thinking straight. Formulating a plan in his mind, he quickly decided to make his apologies for allowing things to go so far and explain that it wasn't her fault. She was upset and drunk, even knowing that it wasn't the whole truth. They were clearly attracted to each other and if the situation were different… Well, that didn't matter, because a relationship was simply not possible.

After enjoying her attention for minutes longer than he should, he gently cupped her head, pulling her away from him until he could see her face. " _Molly…_ "

"Don't say it, please." The hurt was already evident in her eyes.

In that moment he found that he simply couldn't follow through with his plan. He didn't just care for this woman… he realised just then that he could - maybe already did - love her. "Not like this," he said. "Our first time shouldn't be like this."

She looked shocked but not displeased in the slightest.

"Though I know we're not completely inebriated, I'd much rather we both be absolutely of sound mind when we make love for the first time," he explained, hoping she understood because it was important… to him.

Ducking her head and kissed his chest. When had she unbuttoned his oxford? "You're right." Sitting up, she straightened her tee shirt. "I honestly thought you were rejecting me."

Sherlock followed, slipping his arm around her back. "Never."

"Good. I really thought that John had scared you off or that you still saw me as a silly child." She bit her lip.

"Hardly," he said, only partially lying. She was no child, though he wasn't sure how he was going to handle the 'John situation'.

"Can I ask you for something?"

"Of course."

"Will you sleep with me tonight? I'll be leaving next week and even though you're right, we shouldn't have sex after drinking so much, I'd like…"

"Here, on the couch," he answered, feeling like he'd be less tempted, for some reason, if they were in the front room.

Molly nodded and Sherlock got up to remove his shoes and retrieve a blanket.

When he returned, she asked, "Aren't you going to change clothes?"

"No. I'll sleep like this." He was still wearing his tailored dress trousers and oxford.

"Doesn't seem very comfortable."

"It's for the best," he said with a smirk.

As they lay down on the sofa, Molly nestled in the crook of Sherlock's arm, she turned and kissed him again. "I really wish I had gotten one of those jobs," she said as she broke the kiss. "London not only has better hospitals, but it has you." She tucked her head against his chest and wrapped her arm around his stomach.

Sherlock smiled. She'd be staying, even if she didn't know it yet. Now… how to handle his soon to be angry best friend?

* * *

Waking up, Sherlock realised a few things very quickly. Firstly, they must have gotten warm at some point, because the blanket was lying on the floor. Secondly, his sofa wasn't meant to sleep two grown adults. In the night, Molly had moved until she was basically lying on top of him. Next, he noticed that his right hand was inside her pajama pants, cupping her bottom.  _Lovely_ , he thought with a smirk. Unfortunately, he also realised at that moment that they were being watched.  _Fuck_!

He looked across the room and found an angry John Watson sitting, elbows on his knees, staring daggers at the occupants of the sofa.

"John," Sherlock said as he slowly removed his hand. "You're back early."

"No shit, Sherlock." He stood and walked closer to the cuddling couple. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" His voice was a low dangerous whisper.

"Sleeping?"

" **WITH MY SISTER**!?" he screamed, causing Molly to jerk awake.

"Sweet Mother of God, John. What's with the shouting?" she said as she pushed up off of Sherlock's chest. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Molly Marie Hooper! Get your arse up right now, young lady!" he directed at the woman.

"Are you insane?" she asked angrily.

John started pacing. "I forbid this…this...  _whatever_ this is! I forbid it!" Turning back to the sofa. "Do you understand me?"

Molly sat up, followed by Sherlock, both staring at the raging doctor in front of them.

"This is beyond the pale, Sherlock! How could you?!"

"How could he what?" Molly asked as she stood. She was obviously mad and spoiling for a fight with her brother. Not that Sherlock could blame her, John was overreacting… a bit. "What exactly did Sherlock do, oh clairvoyant one?"

Hands on his hips, John squared on the younger woman. "He clearly took advantage of you, Molly! You're just a kid. You have no idea…"

"You're an idiot!" she yelled. "He didn't take advantage of me!" She moved closer until the siblings were less than two feet apart.

"I'm not blind!" He gestured to the bottle and glasses on the table. "Did he get you drunk before he screwed you?!"

_**SMACK!** _

The force with which the small woman struck her brother told Sherlock everything he needed to know about whether or not one should cross Molly Hooper.

Silence echoed in the flat for what felt like an hour, but was more like two minutes. Finally, she said, "I didn't get either job. Thanks for asking." Her voice low but steady. "I was upset. Sherlock was kind and comforting. Yes, we had a few drinks…"

Sherlock held his breath, waiting for the next part of the tale.

"I didn't want to sleep alone, so I asked him to stay with me. Nothing untoward happened, I can assure you." And then she stunned them both with, "Even though  _I_ certainly wanted it to."

_What?_

John's eyes bugged and his face turned an interesting shade of red, almost matching Molly's handprint on his cheek. "What are you saying?" he growled.

"You heard me, John. Would you like me to spell it out?"

Sherlock gaped. She was protecting him, refusing to disclose anything incriminating about him.  _Yep… I'm in love_. Even more impressive, as upset and offended as she was, she was behaving calmly and rationally (except for the slapping, of course).

In her brother's silence, she evidently decided to elaborate. "I practically threw myself at your best friend and even though it would have been easy to do, he refused to take advantage of me. When he turned me down he was neither cruel or cutting. Quite the contrary. He was gentle and reassuring, clearly understanding the fragile nature of my emotions. I've been here for two weeks and it seems that I know him better than you do, John. You need to think about that," she finished, then stormed up the stairs.

At that moment Sherlock wondered if Molly was lying at all. He feared that, perhaps, her recollection of their evening was entirely different than his own. If so, he had no idea how to handle the situation.  _Maybe it's for the best_ , he thought sadly. Men like Sherlock Holmes didn't end up with women like Molly Hooper.

John refused to meet his eyes. Instead, he stared out the window for several minutes before he turned and left the flat, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Two hours later Sherlock was showered and a bit more refreshed. He was still confused about Molly however, not sure whether or not she had remembered the evening prior correctly. If she  _had_ remembered, was she trying to protect him from John's wrath? It wouldn't be out of character as far as he could tell. Molly seemed as steadfast as her brother. John was (usually) unfailingly loyal to him (little sisters notwithstanding). Maybe it was a familial trait. If she hadn't - if her recall was somehow skewed by the alcohol and she  _didn't_ remember his reciprocal responses to her kisses - well, then, he had decided to leave things alone.

Leave  _her_ alone.

"It's for the best," he said out loud to the empty flat as he picked up his laptop and pulled up his website, hoping to find a case to occupy his time. He had barely left the flat over the last week in favour of spending time with Molly.

That thought, of course, led him to memories of their time together. It may have only been a week, but it somehow felt much longer. The experiments, yes, had been informative and sometimes thrilling, but there were other moments too. Quiet mornings over coffee and tea, respectively, as they read the paper and chatted about… nothing really. There had been long, drawn-out discussions about famous murders, unsolved cases and forensic methods that left him both frustrated and exhilarated in equal measure. She never gave up when she knew she was right, sometimes running off in the middle of a conversation to find a book or pulling up an article to prove her point. The more fired-up she got about a subject, the more in awe Sherlock was of the tiny woman.

Overall, spending so much unfettered time with her had only fueled his desire and strengthened his feelings for her. What had started out as sexual attraction (basically at first sight) had morphed into genuine admiration for a brilliant mind and respect for her strength of character.

Letting her go would be difficult, to say the least, but all in all his friendship with John was more important. Not to mention, he was never going to be good enough for someone like her. Hopefully she had no memory of their shared kisses. If that were the case, he'd lock the whole experience into a room in his mind palace and forget that it ever happened.

Not ten minutes later the woman herself came barreling down the stairs. Stopping a few feet away from his chair, she asked, "What have you done?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I just got a call from someone in the HR department at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. I've got an interview tomorrow at ten am. Now tell me: what have you done?"

He couldn't tell if she was pleased or livid. The day had been far too emotionally draining and he frankly didn't have it in him to deduce a thing. Too tired to play games- to lie or pretend -the detective decided to simply tell the truth and let the cards fall where they may.

"I called in a favour," he said, returning his attention to his computer.

"Meaning?"

He sighed as he moved his laptop to the table next to him. Looking up, he studied her but was still unable to decipher her mood. "My brother holds a minor position in the government. I asked him if he could arrange an interview for you. I'm sure I overstepped, Molly, but those idiots at St. Mary's and…" He paused, trying to remember the name of the other hospital.

"Charing Cross."

"Yes, Charing Cross, they made a mistake. You would be wasted in Bristol. Talent like yours is much better put to use here in London and…" He was running out of steam. The truth was he just didn't want her to leave. Two weeks of Molly Hooper simply wasn't enough. Ducking his head, he ran his fingers through his hair.

All his internal talk of what was best for everyone involved couldn't override the fact that he wanted her. He wanted her to stay… in London… in his life… in his damn arms.

"Sherlock?" she said, causing him to look up. He'd have to face the repercussions of his heavy-handedness at some point.

"Yes?"

* * *

John Watson felt like the world's biggest tool. After leaving the flat he had walked directly to his favourite pub. Three pints later he realised how just how badly he had misjudged his best friend. Of course he hadn't tried to take advantage of Molly; this was Sherlock Holmes for Christ's sake! The man didn't care about women and 'getting a leg over'. All he cared about was science and deduction and solving bloody puzzles, not pretty girls and sex!

As he made his way back to Baker Street, he resolved to do anything in his power to fix things between himself and his best friend. And also his little sister. She was obviously offended, not to mention hurt by his accusations.  _What was I thinking?_  he wondered as he unlocked the front door. He had always been overprotective, but that's what big brothers did… right?

_Wrong_ , he thought as he ascended the stairs.  _They don't accuse their little sisters of getting drunk and shagging their best friends!_ He stopped on the landing and considered what he would say to the two most important people in his life, both of whom he'd managed to alienate in a matter of ten minutes.

_I'll apologise - beg if I have to - and make sure they understand that I do trust them… both. I'll also try again to get Molly an interview at St. Barts._ Last time he had asked Mike about pathology positions, there weren't any available. Maybe...

* * *

Sherlock lay on top of Molly, grinding his erection into her denim covered centre as he kissed the swell of her breasts. They both had lost their tops at some point after she had jumped on him, thanking him profusely for getting her the interview.

"Oh, God!" she moaned. "I haven't had a drop of alcohol today, Sherlock, you better  _not_  stop this time." She tugged at his curls, pulling his mouth back up to hers.

He kissed her fiercely, lapping at her tongue as he made room between them to reach for the button and zip on her jeans. As he ended the kiss, he nipped along her jaw then whispered in her ear, "The sitting room floor isn't exactly romantic, love."

"Fuck! I don't care," she said, proving her point by cupping him through his trousers.

After emitting a long, loud groan, he had to admit that she was right. "The floor it is." He leant up, just about to tug off her jeans when he heard the door of the flat open and a startled gasp that could only belong to his flatmate.  _Not again…_  Sherlock grabbed his shirt, which was closest, covering Molly's exposed chest.

" **OH MY GOD!** " John exclaimed.

Sitting up next to the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with, all Sherlock could think to say was, "Hello, John. Did you have a nice walk?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Let me know if you liked it! ~Lil~


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